The graffiti on the wall of the men’s toilets at Ching-a-ling’s is way cool.
I don’t recall the graffiti from the last time we visited one of Sydney’s new “cool, small bars” which was maybe six months ago.
That time, we entered from the back door on Little Oxford Street which, oddly enough was the main entrance then.
But due to resident’s noise complaints which temporarily forced its closure, this time we entered from Oxford Street.
The night started off quietly enough with just a friend and I catching up for a post-work debrief. I had a reasonably important meeting, and she was keen to buy me a drink as a post-meeting de-stress.
After a couple of glasses of wine, two other friends who were in the area texted me, and they joined us at Bentley Bar for a drink or two.
Just as we had all decided it was time to get home and to “keep ourselves nice”, we decided one final glass of something was necessary, and that it was the duty of my first friend and I to introduce our other friends to Ching-a-ling’s.
Once again, we were the oldest people there. Well, aside from one really old bloke (read: five years older than me). I suspect there were probably one or two there born in the 1990s (gulp), though I think most were in the 25-30 year old age group.
Interestingly, though, none of us had hangups about being “the old people” in the bar. After a while in life you gain a certain confidence that you might not otherwise have expected to develop. And so we sat and chatted, and entertained I’m sure, a group of people around us.
The bar was packed.
And best of all? We all got home and kept ourselves nice.
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